Who would dare openly challenge the word of the Southern Embroidered Uniform Guard Commander?
Shuang’an Prefecture and Quanzhou Prefecture were neighbors by land and sea. Whether the Japanese pirates had come to attack Shuang’an or Quanzhou — who could say for certain?
Getting on the wrong side of the Embroidered Uniform Guard over such a trivial matter was not worth it. Prefect Xie could only swallow what had been forced down his throat, however bitter it was.
If the pirate trouble had been started for Quanzhou’s sake, then naturally the reward money for the pirates’ heads should come from the Quanzhou Prefecture yamen — which would also count as “helping out” Pei Shaohuai in no small way.
Not all of the Japanese ships had entered Fengwei Gorge. When the Japanese fleet first scattered, five sekibune from the right flank of the wedge formation had used the confusion to flee northward, into the waters that Wang Chu was responsible for defending.
A large group of pirates against three to five Japanese ships should have been more than sufficient.
But the news that came back to the island was that only one ship had been intercepted — the remaining four had been allowed to escape.
Upon hearing this, Wang Chu’s anger did not show on his face. He gripped the armrests of his grand chair, the veins on his hands rising beneath his sleeves, and asked: “What happened?” He had sent out ten ships — how could they have failed to stop five sekibune?
He had clearly given the order — hold the north no matter what, and do not break the promise.
“Tell me the truth,” he said again.
The calmer he spoke, the more those below him stumbled and hedged, saying: “Chief… it was the second-in-command’s idea.”
Wang Chu’s face twitched slightly. He raised his teacup as if to hurl it down — the tea spilled over the rim — but his trembling hand set it back down after all. A great victory in Shuang’an Bay, and yet something had gone wrong on his end. He had let four Japanese ships slip away, breaking his word to the Shuang’an Prefecture yamen and to Pei Shaohuai.
On the island’s shore, Wang Chu stood facing east into the wind, waiting for his men’s return. The sea before him rolled in gentle swells when there was no wind or tide, and washed away sand and stone when storms and great tides came — but what never changed was that it was forever boundless.
The vast sea stretches far; the blue sky soars high; the human heart is small.
Long ago, with nowhere left to turn, he had abandoned his scholarly life and become a bandit, standing on this island and pointing out at the waves as he questioned the heavens — what was justice, what was righteousness? What he had seen then was the sea’s great, boundless expanse, and within him was a heart even greater and more boundless than the sea.
Now, only now, did he notice how tiny this small island was in the midst of that vast sea. That so-called boundless heart of his had been locked to this little island, year after year — how could it ever truly have been greater than the sea?
The ships returned. When the deputy island chief saw the chief’s expression — heavy and cold — he followed Wang Chu of his own accord into the inner room, which was decorated in the manner of a family ancestral hall.
The shrine held an offering to the Goddess of the Sea, protector of ships, and on the altar table incense ash drifted down in spirals, with a thin curl of smoke rising.
“Don’t you think you owe me a proper explanation?” said Wang Chu.
This deputy island chief was considerably younger than Wang Chu, with a powerfully built frame, yet he was utterly deferential to Wang Chu. He said nothing and knelt before him.
“Speak.”
“My life was saved by you, Chief. To me, you are closer than family.” The deputy island chief bowed his head. “I would never dare to defy you in the slightest.”
“Raise your head and look at me.” Wang Chu leaned close to his face and demanded: “You say you would not dare defy me — then why did you deliberately let those Japanese ships go?”
In a military camp, such conduct would be treason and betrayal.
“I have never read books, but I know what the old men of the hills say — the one who sells snake medicine is also the one who raises snakes… Chief, do you really not understand?” The deputy island chief raised his head, and his voice grew firmer. He continued: “Think about what our brothers on the island live off, and think about why they came to this island in the first place. If the Japanese pirates were no longer causing trouble, would those silk-clad merchants on shore still obediently send us silver?”
Without rotten meat, what would draw in the wolves?
The deputy island chief went on, his tone as if he were the one urging Wang Chu rather than Wang Chu demanding answers from him: “Chief is a learned man — you like distributing kindness and porridge, you like robbing the rich to help the poor, you talk about bringing righteousness to the world. The brothers can understand all of that. But this one matter of cooperating with the authorities — the brothers have grievances about it, and it is only because I have been quietly suppressing them… If it weren’t for the authorities, would the brothers have taken to the sea as outlaws? If that young prefect is truly a good official, why would he board the same boat as outlaws — and if he is not a good official, how do we know he is not simply using us?”
He feared the chief was being deceived by his own goodness.
“Outlaws?” Wang Chu seized the deputy island chief by the collar. The anger finally broke through on his face, and he barked: “Even you are going to call yourself an outlaw? You intend to spend the rest of your life on this island waiting for rotten meat — is that it?”
“Isn’t that exactly what we do? If we’re not outlaws, what are we? What’s wrong with living off rotten meat? The brothers came to the island precisely to be outlaws.” The deputy island chief replied. “No matter how good a reputation an outlaw has, he is still an outlaw. That doesn’t change.”
Both brothers were caught in the heat of the moment.
The deputy island chief saw the chief’s face turn ashen and his thoughts go still, the hand gripping his collar loosening somewhat, and he could not bear it. He softened his tone on his own initiative and said: “Even setting all of that aside — Chief, you ought to think about this: if the day comes when we can no longer collect road money, and the brothers below are cut off from their livelihood and want to go to Xu Wu’s island, do we stop them or not? Do we kill them or not?”
Xu Wu was another pirate chieftain, and what he did was far more sinister than anything Wang Chu had ever done.
His strength was also a cut above Wang Chu’s.
Wang Chu’s hand loosened entirely from the collar. He sank back into his chair, and no matter how his deputy called out “Chief,” he gave no response.
Before the shrine’s incense burner, a glowing ember of ash broke off and fell on the back of Wang Chu’s hand. The sting finally made him jerk his hand, and he said: “Go now.”
“Leave me in peace for a while.”
To steal the people’s wealth is “plunder”; to bring harm upon the common folk is to be a “bandit.” Wang Chu sat in silence as Pei Shaohuai’s words continued to echo in his ears — “In the beginning, one may curse the injustice of the world, and say the people were driven to rise against their oppressors… but when the brothers are no longer content with ordinary comfort, where do you go from there?” — “Plundering is always faster than earning.” — “Keeping hold of your own conscience does not mean keeping hold of the people beneath you…”
At the time he had dismissed these words, priding himself on never having done bandit’s deeds. Now, it felt as though something were being carved out of his chest.
When news reached Pei Shaohuai that four sekibune had escaped to the north, he was not surprised.
Pei Shaohuai asked Bao Bantou: “When the Japanese ships were attacking, did Wang Chu’s men take the opportunity to come ashore and cause trouble?”
“In reply to my lord — they did not.”
If they had, the people would hardly have been in the mood to stand on the shore and watch the battle.
“Then all is well.” The objective had been achieved. Pei Shaohuai gave his instructions: “Tell Old Nine Bao to pass the word — as agreed beforehand, have Wang Chu send men to Fengwei Gorge to retrieve the heads.”
Then he added: “Oh — and tell them to move quickly. I would rather they not foul the water in Fengwei Gorge.” After all, this was Da Qing’s own seashore.
“My lord, but…” Bao Bantou was puzzled. The pirates had broken their word — why were they still to receive the reward?
“In any era, what amount of a few thousand taels of silver has ever been enough to win every heart? If it were so simple, it would be far too easy. Besides, winning Wang Chu over does not mean winning over all his men.” The human heart is difficult to fathom. Pei Shaohuai raised his hand and gave Bao Bantou a pat on the shoulder, and asked with meaningful weight: “Would you not agree, Bao Bantou?”
Bao Bantou gave a sudden shudder and nodded repeatedly: “My lord is right.”
“Your subordinate will carry out your instructions at once.”
That night, Jiahe Island blazed with light so brilliant it put the moon on the sea to shame.
The victory banquet was held over two days in three rounds. Those on duty ate without drinking, maintaining their vigilance without let-up. Military merits that needed to be tallied had already been recorded under each person’s name.
Japan had silver mines and produced white silver in abundance. Yan Chengzhao had retrieved quite a few silver ingots from the atakebune, and these were all distributed as rewards to the commanders, soldiers, and sailors of the Jiahe Guard.
On the waterway between Jiahe Island and Tong’an City, oars beat against the water in rippling waves, and small boats made continuous trips between the two places throughout the night — busier than during the day. This was because the city’s residents, of their own accord, were sending melons, fruits, rice, and flour, chickens, ducks, pigs, and geese over to Jiahe Island, leaving them at the entrance to the garrison before rowing back.
Among those sending gifts were the clans and families who had pooled together their contributions — the gifts were modest, but the sentiment was deep. They were expressing gratitude to the Jiahe Guard for stopping the Japanese ships and sparing them from a raid.
Several days later, according to rumor, the Quanzhou Prefecture yamen had paid out a reward of several thousand taels of silver for the pirates killed — fifteen taels a head for each Japanese pirate, with the “moon-top” heads fetching an even higher price. By that reckoning, just from what had been retrieved, there had to have been four or five hundred Japanese pirates who had perished in Fengwei Gorge.
As for those who could not be retrieved — who could know how many there truly were?
And the Jiahe Guard had not suffered a single casualty. It was truly a resounding victory.
At the same time, in the teahouses of Shuang’an Prefecture, new stories began to circulate at a rapid pace — “The Bloody Battle of Fengwei Gorge,” “The Jiahe Guard Crushes the Petty Japanese Ships,” “The People’s Militia Takes to the Boats to Repel the Enemy” — one after another without end.
Once the sailors returned from the Jiahe Guard and came back to the city, they spread what they had seen and heard in the garrison, and people came to learn of Pei Zhizhou’s strategies and Yan Commander’s valor. The storytellers in the teahouses put the finishing touches to these tales, making the stories all the more vivid, with lines such as “Pei Zhizhou’s brilliant schemes employed the waves to strike the ships — one small plan defeated a hundred enemy vessels” and “Yan Commander’s martial arts surpassed all others; he shot a bull’s-eye from a hundred paces — the atakebune bore witness to his divine might.” Folk stories always embellished things a touch for drama and excitement.
Compared to his time in Taicang Prefecture, when Pei Shaohuai heard stories about himself again this time, he felt no more embarrassment.
On the contrary, he had Chang Zhou collect the stories and personally edited them with his own brush, making them more vivid and true to life.
“Steward Zhang, have people sell these stories as widely as possible — the farther the better.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Such a fine opportunity to make the name of Shuang’an Prefecture known — how could Pei Shaohuai let it slip by? Now that the Jiahe Guard had proven its ability to repel Japanese pirates and the region was at peace, merchants from the interior of Fujian would naturally be more willing to send their goods to Shuang’an Prefecture.
With people coming and goods arriving, a market would naturally form of its own accord.
Compared to the pushing force of the authorities, this kind of spontaneous gravitational pull, self-generated, would be far more enduring and tenacious and difficult to cut off.
Winter was approaching, the north wind drawing near. The great clans’ merchant ships had been repaired and were preparing to sail south again, and Tong’an City and Nan’an City of Shuang’an Prefecture grew increasingly bustling — even the groves in the outskirts had merchants stopping to sell their wares.
In past years, the inland merchants would have first made for Zhangzhou’s Yuegang and Quanzhou’s port, and only once their surplus goods remained would they loop back to bring them to Tong’an City. This year, however, they came to Shuang’an Prefecture first without any prior arrangement, choosing to conduct their trading there.
This meant that in Shuang’an Prefecture, one could buy first-hand goods — the finest teas, white porcelain, writing brushes and ink and paper and inkstones, and even large iron woks, with everything one could want. Private ships that had once plied the waters of Yuegang, seeing that the Shuang’an Prefecture yamen had no inclination to inspect them, also boldly made for Shuang’an Bay.
As the twelfth month drew near, the Qi Family Hall’s merchant ships were all fully loaded with cargo, waiting only for the north wind to arrive so they could set sail.
In the Qi clan’s ancestral hall, preparations for the grand sacrificial rites were underway, offering prayers to the ancestors and seeking their blessing for a smooth voyage, asking that the clan be brought back grain and wealth.
The clan elder had gone to the home of the Twenty-Seventh Elder several times, asking him to come and offer the first incense. But each time, he had been turned away at the door.
The Twenty-Seventh Elder was not away from home — he simply refused to see him.